


24/7

by orphan_account



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: (Mildly) Drunk Sex, Alcohol, Alternate Universe - College/University, Anal Fingering, Blow Jobs, Body Worship, Declarations Of Love, Developing Relationship, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, Hand Jobs, M/M, Minor Injuries, Rimming, Shower Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-18
Updated: 2016-08-18
Packaged: 2018-08-09 13:15:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7803382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Keith and Lance are friends (with benefits) and nothing more (or so they say).</p>
            </blockquote>





	24/7

**Author's Note:**

> so uh. ... .. this was supposed to be a short oneshot. i spent way too much time on this. whoops. now it's a monster with an actual plot & character development.
> 
> the porn is minor, don't let the tags scare you
> 
>  
> 
> as usual thanks @ britney for deleting my semi-colons & making sure this makes sense!!  
> u the real mvp

Every story had to start somewhere, Lance supposed, and it was strange that this one in particular started with an innate hatred; on the long list of things Lance hated-- and there were a lot-- people who put textbooks back in the incorrect alphabetical order were among the top five, and people with bad haircuts were  _ definitely  _ in the top three, which is how  _ mullet-man _ , as Lance donned him, was  _ numero uno _ . 

“Look at him,” Lance hissed at Hunk. 

“What?” Hunk asked; his voice was a little too loud, like always. Lance shushed him. 

“Look at him,” repeated Lance, “But, like;  _ subtlely _ .”

Hunk raised widened eyes to trail at the figure; his back was turned towards them-- hunched behind the cash-register-- and Lance could just make-out the guy’s skinny white fingers and horrendous mop of black hair. He followed how his hands travelled across the bookshelf; picking up one volume on advanced calculus only to replace it  _ not  _ before  _ Advanced Calculus II _ but instead  _ after  _ it. For someone who required university textbooks on mathematics, he sure seemed incredibly stupid. 

Hunk snorted and flipped a page in his magazine.

“Whatever,” he told Lance, “The guy’s probably not doing it on purpose.”

“He  _ is _ .”

“ _ Why _ are you like this, Lance?” whined Hunk.

“Buddy,” Lance whispered dramatically. He slung an arm around Hunk’s shoulders and breathed-- a little wetly-- into his ear. “Are you telling me,” he spoke, “That a guy who knows advanced calculus doesn’t know the  _ alphabet _ ?”

Hunk blinked once or twice.

“Good point,” he admitted. 

Lance inhaled a trembling breath.

“I’m going over there.”

Hunk groaned.

“Can you  _ maybe  _ chill? This is a part-time job at a campus bookstore, literally  _ no one  _ cares--”

“ _ I’m going over there _ .”

“To do  _ what?  _ Lance, don’t--”

“It’s a matter of moral principle.”

Ignoring another groan from Hunk, Lance maneuvered his body past the cash-register. He raised his chin as though there were an invisible string pulling it up, and strode over to the bookcase  _ mullet-man  _ stood before. 

“Hey,” Lance spoke, “Listen, I--”

The figure turned around. 

Suddenly, a breath Lance didn’t even know he had been holding was exhaled in a weak wheeze. Lance’s eyes widened, and a raging flush spread over his cheeks. The guy was gorgeous-- pale and slim, with dark eyes and pink lips-- and he looked weirdly familiar. 

“Uh,” the man spoke, “Hi?”

Lance’s mouth was dry. He was baffled.  _ Mullet-man’s  _ voice was far deeper than expected; gravelly and rough. It sounded like it belonged in an edgy, cool punk band from the nineties, and the guy dressed like he belonged there, too; ripped black jeans and a over-sized white t-shirt, a red flannel wrapped around those skinny, slim hips. Lance wondered what they would feel like under his fingers. 

“Hey,” was all that came out of Lance’s mouth, in a trembling croak. 

“You said that already.”

“Did I?” spoke Lance.

“Yeah.”

“Oh,” Lance said dumbly. He bit at the inside of his mouth.  _ Mullet-man  _ was just  _ standing  _ there. His presence made him infinitely nervous. Lance leaned against the bookcase, and crossed his arms; he had to seem cool  _ somehow _ , since he  _ was  _ a pretty cool guy, he liked to think. 

“I know you,” mystery man said. 

“Do-- do you?” Lance asked. His tone changed from curious to horrendously offended in a heartbeat. 

“Yeah; we were in the same physics class in freshman year.”

“Oh;  _ oh _ ,” Lance realised. He threw his head back; memories of an attractive stranger who sat two rows in front of him flashed through his mind. “Yeah, I remember.”

“You failed, didn’t you?”

The guy got under his skin like none other; it was sort of nice to see that little had changed. 

“I  _ did _ ,” Lance spoke, “But-- that was  _ one time _ , okay? I was under a lot of pressure, and besides, you’re talking to a  _ physics major _ .” He gave the figure a suave smile; that sharp, lopsided grin of his. “And what are you doing, huh?  _ Medicine _ ?”

“Aerospace engineering.”

Lance lost his balance; he slipped, flailed, and knocked a display on law textbooks over. 

Keith’s lips stretched into a satisfied smile. It was gorgeous. 

“Well-- that’s-- whatever,” mumbled Lance. Keith adjusted the hold on the textbooks he balanced in his arms, and tucked a strand of hair behind his ear. Lance swore he heard angels singing. 

“I should--”

“I’m Lance,” blurted Lance. He retracted, immediately, and cupped the back of his flaming warm neck nervously.

“Keith,” the other said, “Nice to meet you; again.”

Lance laughed at that. 

“Should I-- should I check those out for you?” he asked, gesturing to the books Keith cradled;  _ Fundamentals on Aerospace Engineering, Aerospace Propulsion,  _ and  _ Advanced Calculus III _ .

“Sure,” Keith replied. He followed Lance to the register; Hunk was nowhere to be seen.

“Already done with  _ Advanced Calculus II _ , huh?” Lance joked as he scanned the work, “That was a thriller, right? Read through it in one night; couldn’t stop myself.” 

Keith laughed; it was harmonious, and sounded like birds. Lance marvelled at the sight.

“Yeah, totally,” Keith said. 

Lance leaned on the counter and pressed some buttons on the cashier. 

“That’ll be sixty-nine-ninety-nine,” he stated. Keith nodded, and handed him some bills. Lance typed in the amount, and dropped the change into Keith’s open palm; his fingers skimmed the soft skin there, and the sensation sent electrical sparks through his veins. Something about Keith’s presence put him on edge. 

“So…,” Keith spoke, “I guess I’ll… see you around.”

“Yeah,” sighed Lance, “I mean-- it’d-- if you would… give me your number that might… make it easier to see you around.”

“It would.”

Keith grinned lopsidedly and grabbed a pen from the display on stationary beside the register. He scrawled some numbers on the back of his receipt.

“See you, Lance,” he said, and with a tiny wave, he was gone. 

Lance waved back; he was in a daze.

“Dude,” whispered Hunk, “ _ Dude _ ; you should text him.”

Lance snapped out of it quicker than he thought was possible.

“What? Like,  _ right now _ ?”

“Yeah, duh!”

“I don’t want to seem desperate!”

“Lance, you  _ are  _ desperate!”

Lance furrowed his brow at that; it was true.

“Just text him something chill,” Hunk suggested, “Something like  _ hey, it’s lance _ .”

Lance scratched at his jaw. 

“‘m not desperate,” he told him. 

“Sure,” Hunk laughed, “Whatever you say, buddy; you practically swooned back there, but sure.  _ Oh, Keith! _ ” Hunk impersonated, “ _ Advanced Calculus II! Keith, you’re so-o-o-o smart! _ ”

“Shut up!”

“ _ Love is in the air-- _ ”

“ _ Oh my God, shut up-- _ ”

 

It took Lance two days, five hours, and twenty-six minutes to send him a text, a mere _ hey, it’s lance  _ just like Hunk had told him to, because Hunk was good at things, like this. 

They decided to meet in a bar-- a place with wooden floors and semi-clean bathrooms-- par Keith’s suggestion; to  _ catch-up _ , he’d said. 

Lance arrived first; he chose a table near the back, with a small sofa-esque seating arrangement that would give him a perfect excuse to sit a little closer to Keith than was actually necessary. Keith showed up three and a half minutes later, and  _ of course  _ he looked flawlessly cool; hair falling into his eyes and black jeans stuffed into combat boots. 

Lance watched him settle down beside him. 

“Hi,” Lance told him, “What do you want to drink?”

He was forward, like that. 

Keith shrugged.

“Whatever,” he said, “Get me some sort of beer. It all tastes the same.”

Lance snorted at that.

He ended up getting Keith a Desperado; mojito flavoured.

Keith raised an eyebrow at his choice. Lance himself had ordered a  _ normal  _ Heineken.

“Summer edition,” Lance supplied with a sharp grin. 

“Thanks,” Keith drawled, “How much do I owe you?”

“Nothing,” Lance said with a shrug. He took a sip of his beer. “It’s fine; pay me back, next time.”

_ Next time-- oh, God-- Jesus, Mary, and Joseph-- _

They were silent, for a moment. 

“So,” began Keith, “Where are you from?”

Lance threw his head back and groaned. 

“ _ Seriously _ ?” he asked, “ _ That’s _ your choice of awkward small-talk starter?”

“Are you going to answer the fucking question or not?”

Lance frowned and took a sip of his beer. 

“Miami,” he mumbled. 

Keith barked a laugh. His shoulders shook by the force of it. Lance should have been offended by his reaction, yet all he could think about was how nice Keith’s teeth were. 

“I’m sorry,” Keith said, leaning closer and propping his chin in his palm, “I didn’t hear you; could you repeat that?”

“I’m from Miami,” gritted Lance. His anger only made Keith’s grin widen. 

“Jesus! I should have known. Go to  _ Miami Beach  _ a lot? Do you like Pitbull?  _ Mr. Worldwide _ ?”

Lance was silent, and shifted in his seat.

Keith gasped. 

“ _ No _ \--”

“Don’t you dare--”

“You like--”

“ _ Keith-- _ ”

“You like Pitbull!”

Lance groaned. Keith inched closer. 

“Lance Sanchez is a diehard Pitbull fan and don’t you deny it,” he hushed. He was so close Lance could have counted his eyelashes. 

Lance raised an eyebrow. 

“Are you telling me you  _ don’t  _ like Pitbull?” he asked. 

“Hate him.”

Lance gasped at that.

“Guess we can’t be friends after all,” he said. 

Keith grinned; that intelligent, sharp half-smirk of his.

“That’s a shame,” he said, “I was getting used to this.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Keith hushed. He was so close Lance’s mouth was millimetres away from his. “Maybe even grown to like it.”

“ _ Just _ like it?” teased Lance.

“A little bit, yeah.”

A glass fell somewhere; it startled them, and they fell apart once more. 

Lance took a nervous gulp of his beer. Keith mirrored his actions. 

Lance coughed, awkwardly. 

“Where are you from?” he asked Keith. 

Keith furrowed his brow a little. 

“California,” he said. 

“Really? Gee, that’s a long way from home.”

Keith shrugged. 

“You get used to it.”

“Are you kidding me?” Lance said, “I’m from the East Coast and  _ I  _ get homesick  _ all the time _ .”

“Really?”

It seemed doubtful; Lance was loud and boisterous and proud. Keith had forgotten how quiet he’d been in their first year, and how shy. 

“Yeah,” said Lance, “First year was rough; that was probably why I failed that physics class. I had a lot on my plate.”

“Oh.”

Lance hummed in agreeance.

“But, I mean… things get better. I got my own place, now;  _ finally _ ,” he said, “‘cept this fucking  _ asshole  _ keeps stealing my parking space.”

“No way!” Keith spoke; perhaps too loudly, “Me too!”

“What?” Lance grinned, “Fuck, no!”

“Fuck,  _ yeah _ !” Keith said, “Ever since I moved in; I complained to the landlord, and he  _ still  _ does it. There’s no way it’s an accident.”

Lance nodded. 

“Hey..,” he said, “Are you… I’ve got an idea; c’mon, I’ll walk you home, and we’ll key the car.”

Keith snorted at that.

“Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

“Such a gentleman,” Keith told him in a soft voice; somewhere short of awe.

“ _ Whatever _ ,” Lance replied, “I just don’t want some creep to see you from behind and think you’re a pretty lil’ princess ‘cause of your girly-ass hair.”

“Aw, Lance, you think I’m pretty?” Keith asked with that brilliantly intelligent grin stretching his lips. 

_ Yes _ .

“What? No!” Lance scoffed, “You’re drunk; let’s go home.”

“I’m not drunk.”

“Hi,  _ Not Drunk _ ,” Lance teased, “I’m Lance, nice to meet you.”

Keith kicked him, for that; he deserved it.

Keith lived close to him, which was convenient, and-- as it turned out-- they lived in the same apartment complex; a crazy coincidence. Maybe it was fate, Lance wondered, or sheer dumb luck. 

“Weird how we’ve never run into each other,” he mumbled. 

“Yeah,” Keith said. 

It was pitch dark outside. The bright, violently white light of the streetlamps were the only source of illumination; they made every feature on Keith’s face seem sharper. Cicadas rang; late summer nights like these were Lance’s favourite. 

“Here it is,” Keith said, “Seventeen-- number seventeen; that’s the asshole.”

Lance tore his eyes away from how pretty he thought Keith’s nose was to follow Keith’s outstretched hand, pointing to a 1987 Corolla. 

“That’s--”

_ It couldn’t be. _

“That’s-- you-- that’s  _ my car _ !”

Keith’s eyes widened comically. 

“ _ What _ \-- you’re joking.”

“No!” Lance shouted. His voice cracked pathetically. 

“I complained about you  _ at least  _ five times!” Keith said. 

“Oh, yeah? Well  _ I  _ complained  _ six times _ !”

Keith inhaled a sharp breath. 

“I’m going to key your car.”

Lance gasped. 

“You wouldn’t--”

“It was your idea, Florida Man--”

“You  _ wouldn’t _ .”

Dangling a set of house keys from his index finger, Keith propped a hand on his hip and grinned. 

“Oh,” he cooed, “I  _ would. _ ”

Lance bolted; Keith sprinted; and then, they collided. 

Lance pounched on Keith in an effort to stop him-- his weight crushing Keith’s speed-- as Keith clawed at Lance, trying to push him off. The heel of his hand pressed into Lance’s chin, forcing him to tilt it backwards. Lance glared at Keith; they were close, so close that Keith’s anger fueled pants fanned over Lance’s cheeks and mouths as Lance leaned forward once more, until--

Keith’s hand thrust forward; past Lance’s chin, and into his nose. 

“Holy-- fucking--  _ shit _ !”

Lance tumbled backwards. 

Keith inhaled, exhaled shakily; he stopped, and stared. Trickles of red dripped from Lance’s nostril.

“Oh,” Keith breathed, “Lance--”

“ _ Nope _ !” Lance shouted. 

“Lance, I--”

“ _ Don’t talk to me _ .”

Lance turned, and covered his nose with his palm, catching the blood. Keith curled and uncurled his fists; he never  _ did  _ know what to do with his hands. 

“Lance--”

Lance groaned; a shout of anger, then a screech. 

“You broke my nose!”

Keith stepped forward. His shoulders were hunched, as he said, “It’s not broken, it’s--”

“ _ You broke my nose _ .”

“Shut the fuck up, you piece of shit!” Keith shouted, pushing at Lance’s shoulder,“It’s not broken!”

Lance was silent for a moment.

“Still bleeding, though,” he said, dejectedly.

Keith sighed. 

“I know; sorry, just-- here,” he told him. Lance watched him-- eyes aflame with anger and a strange fascination-- tear his shirt off, then hold it out to Lance. Lance tilted his head in confusion, and  _ God _ ; it was unfairly adorable. Keith dug his teeth into his lower lip and averted his eyes at the sight.

“For your nose,” he spat, “To stop the bleeding, I mean.”

“Oh,” Lance said. He took it, tentatively. “Thanks.”

Lance held it to his nose. 

“Tilt your head--” Keith began. 

“Forward; I know.”

They were silent, then. 

“I think I’m gonna--”

“I’ll walk you home,” Keith intercepted; tone a little too serious, “I mean-- I-- I don’t want you passing out, or anything.”

Lance snorted.

“Sure,” he said, turning and stepping towards the building, “Whatever.”

Keith followed him to the elevator; he lived two floors above his own flat. When he told Lance this, Lance merely shrugged; it seemed difficult to speak with a still bleeding nose. The thought made Keith’s chest hurt. 

Outside his door, with his key pressed in the keyhole, Lance stopped, turned, and looked at Keith; he was waiting, for something, anything.

“Is it-- does it… has the bleeding stopped?” Keith asked. 

Lance shrugged. 

“Kind of,” he said. He leaned closer to Keith, t-shirt muffling his words, “Kiss it better?”

Keith couldn’t see his leering grin, but it was audible. 

“I didn’t give you a concussion, too, did I?” Keith responded. He leaned a little closer, mirroring Lance; he was magnetic, like that. 

“Nah,” Lance said, “Just a nosebleed is enough for this time; you can knock me out on the second date, yeah?”

Keith snorted at that. 

Lance bit his lower lip and grinned lopsidedly.

“Listen,” he told Keith, “I-- I should probably get inside. I’ve got class tomorrow.”

“Sure,” Keith responded, “I-- I’m sorry for punching your nose. I didn’t-- I-- sorry.”

Lance shot him an exhausted look. 

“I’ll make it up to you; dinner?”

Lance raised an eyebrow and lowered his head. 

“I’ll  _ cook  _ you dinner, okay?” Keith repeated. 

Lance titled his head back and groaned theatrically. 

“Fine,” he said, as though it were the hardest thing in the world. It sounded a little wet. 

“Great. Are you free Friday?”

“I  _ guess _ ,” Lance drawled.

“Okay; okay, yeah,” Keith replied, “I guess I’ll-- see you then.”

Lance nodded, and grasped at his front door with an iron grip; he was nervous. Keith licked his lower lip. He raised a hand, and then-- not knowing what to do-- lowered it to rest on Lance’s shoulder, patting it awkwardly. 

“I don’t know whether you’re being a wuss, or whether you’re just like this,” Lance told him. 

Then, he closed the door-- slammed it, really-- and Keith-- shirtless and cold-- was alone. 

“Shiro--” Keith spoke into his phone, “Shiro, you have to help me; I-- I invited someone over for dinner.”

“ _ What _ ?”

“I invited,” repeated Keith, “Someone over for dinner.”

Shiro snorted a laugh. 

“Is that  _ someone  _ a  _ cute boy _ ?” he teased. 

“What-- I-- that doesn’t--”

“Keith…”

“It has nothing to do--”

“ _ Keith _ .”

“Yes;  _ yes _ , it’s a cute boy.”

“How cute?”

“Very.”

Shiro was silent, for a moment, then; 

“... is a cassarole okay with you?”

Casserole  _ should  _ have been okay; Shiro had brought it to Keith’s earlier that day, wrapped in aluminium foil along with some potatoes, and all Keith had to do was microwave them.

When Lance knocked on the door and-- with a final nervous tuck of his hair behind his ear-- Keith opened it. He felt a little breathless; he didn’t know why.

“Hi,” he spat.

Lance raised an eyebrow. 

“Hey,” he replied. Keith had spoke a little too loudly; a little too forcibly.

Keith stepped to the side, and Lance followed him, eyes wandering around Keith’s apartment. It looked a little like Lance’s own, but it was emptier; there were no photographs or flyers or wrappers or anything, simply a lot of papers and books and pens. Keith had always been the better student; he was ambitious, and determined, and that was his drive to work harder than anyone else. He wanted to be the best.

“You can… sit, or something,” Keith said, gesturing to the dining table. Lance complied. Keith simply  _ stood there _ ; shoulders tense, brow furrowed. He simply watched Lance; eyes fixated on how white his teeth were, and he wondered where he’d gotten that small scar from that was on his chin. 

The microwave rattled, and then--

“Hey, Keith?”

A spark.

“ _ Keith _ .”

The smoke.

“ _ Keith _ , buddy; your microwave is on fire.”

Keith spun around; Lance was right. Keith  _ shrieked  _ in surprise, and then bolted forward, forcing it to open. The aluminium foil was burning; flames flickering. Keith slammed it shut, and unplugged it; the lack of oxygen would cause it to simmer down. 

“Suffocating the flame, huh?” Lance quipped, “That’s smart. How’d that happen?”

Keith’s eyes widened. He panted. 

“I-- the aluminium foil. I forgot to take the foil off.”

Lance threw his head back and laughed so hard his cheeks hurt; it sounded gorgeous. 

“It’s not funny! I could have died!”

“You’re-- oh,  _ Jesus _ \--” wheezed Lance, “Listen, you-- you’re a-- you’re an engineer and you don’t know that you can’t put aluminium foil in a microwave? Jesus Christ, Keith. You’re hopeless.”

Keith dug his teeth into his lower lip. The microwave beeped incessantly, and so did the piercing smoke alarm. Keith grabbed it, and slammed it down on the floor; pieces of plastic flung everywhere. It was silent.

Lance sighed, let a giggle escape his lips, and a ran a hand through his hair. 

“Listen, I-- just-- come over, okay?”

Keith furrowed his brow a little.

“What--”

“I live two floors up, remember?”

Keith bit the inside of his mouth.

“Right,” he stated, “I-- yeah; okay.”

Lance grinned.

“Why’d you have to microwave a nice,  _ home-cooked  _ meal, anyway?” 

“Shut the fuck up.”

“Make yourself at home,” Lance told Keith. 

He dropped his keys on the small table beside the door and walked towards his kitchen. His apartment was nearly identical to Keith’s architecturally; a small kitchen connected to a living-slash-dining room, and a hallway leading to the bathroom and bedroom. The interior design, however, was the complete polar opposite; Lance had books and papers sprawled all over, which he pushed away, now, to make room on the coffee table, seeing as he didn’t even  _ have  _ a dining table. There were posters of films-- Star Wars and Star Trek-- and flyers and leaflets from bands and campus events; LGBT society, fresher’s week, the swim club. There were far more photographs, too; of family and friends, Keith presumed. Keith didn’t have any photographs in his flat; he seemed to have simply less  _ stuff _ . 

“Right,” Lance spoke into his fridge, “We’ve got-- let’s see… Hey, Keith! Buddy! You good with some spaghetti bolognese? My mom sent me some sauce from home; it’s pretty dank, if I might say so myself.”

“Sure,” Keith said. He picked up a framed photograph; Lance-- a slightly younger version, albeit, with longer hair and acne-- and some friends of his. 

“Graduation?” Keith asked him. 

Lance turned immediately. 

“Yeah,” he replied, pouring water into a pot and putting the spaghetti in it, “High school; I was valedictorian.”

Keith was glad Lance hadn’t offered him water; he would have spit it out.

“ _ What _ ?”

Lance snorted at the sheer disbelief in Keith’s voice.

“Yeah,” Lance said, “What, do you think I’m stupid?”

“What-- no;  _ no _ , I don’t.”

Lance scratched at his cheek. 

“Sure,” he replied, “It’s okay if you do; happens all the time. I swear, you fail one class and suddenly everyone thinks you’re a frat-boy.”

Keith let his fingers trail along the dust of Lance’s bookshelf;  _ Spiderman I _ nestled neatly beside  _ Mechanical Engineering VII _ .

“I don’t think you’re a frat-boy.”

The sheer soft, brutal honesty in Keith’s voice took Lance aback. 

“Oh,” he replied, “That’s-- uh… right. Thanks.”

“No problem.”

With a cough, Lance turned his back to Keith to stir the spaghetti and check on the sauce; he needed to hide his blush regardless. 

“I didn’t-- I didn’t know you were on the swim team,” Keith said. His voice was a little too loud; a little too awkward, maybe. The thought of Lance in tiny, minuscule neoprene simply  _ did  _ something to him. 

“Huh? Oh, yeah,” Lance said. He poured the spaghetti into a sieve, and the resulting vapour clouded his vision, a little. “It’s kinda hard to be from Miami and  _ not  _ swim.”

“Right,” Keith stated. Lance mixed the sauce with the spaghetti in the only clean bowl he had left-- a large, clear glass oval saucer-- and grabbed two plates and forks. He sat on the sofa, and placed the bowl on the coffee table. Keith joined him.

“Sorry, I don’t-- I never got around to getting a dining table,” he told Keith. 

“How long have you lived here?”

“A year.”

Keith snorted around a mouthful of spaghetti. 

“Holy shit,” he awed, “This is-- this so  _ good _ .”

Lance grinned lopsidedly.

“I know, right? You can thank  _ mí madre  _ for that.” He stood, then, and walked towards the kitchen once more; though not before tripping over a stray backpack on the floor, “Hey, you want anything to drink?”

“What d’you got?”

“Uh,” Lance peered into the fridge, “I’ve got… expired orange juice, Hunk’s leftover Gatorade, Heineken, and…,” He opened a cupboard. “... cherry Schnapps and rum.”

“I’ll take the Heineken, thanks.”

“Same,” Lance said as he heaved a six-pack of beer out of the shelf, “We can break out the rum later.”

“Good idea.”

They ended up sprawled on Lance’s stained, brown sofa; Keith’s legs over Lance’s thigh, Lance’s arm resting behind Keith. 

“Shit, fam,” Lance hushed around his-- fifth? sixth? or maybe only fourth?-- bottle of beer, “I forgot how good  _ Space Jam  _ is.”

The T.V. was on;  _ Nickelodeon  _ was having a retro-week. It was only a matter of time. 

“Me too,” Keith replied, “It’s so--” he giggled; he  _ giggled _ , “It’s funny.”

Keith let his head loll to the side; it fell on Lance’s shoulder. Lance could feel his breath fan hotly over the bare skin, there, and the sensation elicited goosebumps all over his body. 

“Keith,” Lance spoke, “Hey,  _ Keith _ .”

Keith merely grinned; Lance could feel the stretch of his lips against his flushed neck. 

“Yeah?” Keith hummed. 

“You’re not--  _ silly _ \-- you’re not even watching.”

“I don’t care,” Keith mumbled, “You’re comfortable; soft. You’re very… soft.”

“Soft?”

Keith laughed once more.

“Yeah,” he said. He lifted his head. Lance watched him; his eyes followed that stray strand of hair that fell into Keith’s eyes, and he tucked it back. Fingers brushed Keith’s cheek; it was softer, and a lot warmer than expected. Keith licked his lower lip. He seemed a little lost for words, then; “You’re… soft, Lance; warm and… nice.”

“Oh.”

Lance could feel Keith’s breath fan over his cheeks and chin. Keith’s eyes flickered downwards, glancing at Lance’s parted lips, and then upwards again as Lance leaned closer, and then-- 

Lance pressed his chapped mouth against Keith’s and  _ God _ , it felt  _ amazing _ . 

In truth, Lance was a little too drunk-- buzzed on alcohol and hormones-- to  _ truly  _ cascade his passionate technique, and there was a little too much teeth involved, but Keith was warm and in his arms, and that was all that mattered, really. Keith’s eyes fluttered closed, and he tilted his head a little as Lance pressed closer, and increased the pressure on Keith’s lips; they were full, and far softer than Lance had ever imagined, and he’d imagined them  _ a lot _ .

Lance licked at the roof of Keith’s mouth, traced his teeth-- he could taste the spaghetti bolognese;  _ sorry, mom _ \-- and bit his lower lip. Keith seemed to like that a lot; he groaned softly and tightened the hold on Lance’s hair, tugging a little. Lance liked  _ that _ . 

They eventually parted; Lance’s lungs had started to burn. It was difficult to remember to breathe when he was kissing Keith, since kissing Keith was…  _ a lot _ . Keith was just a  _ a lot  _  kind of person; he made Lance’s head spin and pulse flutter. That was fine. 

“Oh my  _ God _ ; I’ve wanted to do this to you since freshman year,” Lance told the space between Keith’s swollen lips.

“Me too.”

“I can’t--”

“-- believe we didn’t do this sooner? Me neither.”

And then they were kissing again;  _ really  _ kissing. Keith pulled Lance closer, and tugged on his hair until Keith’s back was flush against the sofa, and Lance was breathing a little faster. 

“Oh,  _ fuck _ ,” hissed Keith as Lance ducked to nip and suck along Keith’s neck; it was pale, and soft, and simply  _ perfect  _ for leaving marks. He was into that. He hoped Keith was, too. “Why didn’t we do this-- oh,  _ God _ \-- in freshman year?” 

Lance snorted at that.

“I don’t know, man,” he replied, “We should have; we have a lot to catch up on. Shower sex, library blowjobs, handjobs in lecture--”

“Let’s just start with tipsy sex, yeah?” Keith murmured into Lance’s ear; breath hot and wet. 

Lance swallowed thickly.

“Yeah; yeah, I can do that,” he choked. 

Keith snagged his earlobe between his teeth.

“Oh, my  _ God _ I can  _ definitely  _ do that.”

In a flurry, Lance heaved Keith up; Keith wrapped his thighs around Lance’s waist and  _ God _ , Lance wondered what kind of workout regime Keith had. Was  _ every day leg day _ ? Probably. Regardless, Keith groaned and gyrated his hips and his tongue did all sorts of fun tricks against Lance’s own as Lance carried him to his bedroom; he’d only bumped into a wall once or twice, but that didn’t really matter. Keith seemed to think everything was  _ hilarious _ , and simply allowed Lance to have the tremendous sensation of feeling Keith laugh against his chest and mouth. 

Once his knees hit his bed, Lance let Keith fall onto the mattress. He tore off his shirt and jeans and boxers, and watched Keith do the same; he must have been desperate, too. That wasn’t a problem. Keith was furiously turned on; his pupils were blown, and his body was flushed, and he was just as hard as Lance was, which was  _ terrific _ . Keith reached out and pulled him down-- a little too forcefully, perhaps-- and kissed him again, fingernails clawing at Lance’s scalp and shoulders, and rolled his hips upwards.

“Oh,  _ fuck _ \--” hissed Lance. 

“That’s right,” slurred Keith against Lance’s lower lip, “C’mon; finger me open, daddy.” 

Lance choked. Keith lay sprawled on his pillow; hands on either side of his head, cocked coyly to one side. His eyes were hooded and dark--pupils blown wide with lust-- and his cheeks were flushed. His bare chest-- now littered with blooming marks-- rose and fell with his rasped breaths; abdomen quivering against his erect and rosy pink cock. He was gorgeous, really. 

“Where have you been all my life?” he awed. 

Keith laughed once more, then kicked Lance to urge him as he grabbed the lube from his nightstand. Lance sat back on his haunches, whistling in admiration as he spread the lube over his fingers; he warmed it up before pressing it against Keith’s entrance.

“Do two,” Keith told him, “I’m  _ very  _ talented.”

Lance complied, and  _ sweet Jesus _ ; Keith was far more than talented. He was the real life personification of every single wet dream Lance had since he was thirteen. As Lance inserted his fingers and hooked them, then tentatively began to thrust them, Keith became some sort of wild animal; he hissed and clawed and  _ moaned _ and arched his back and dug his heels into the mattress. It made Lance’s heart do all sorts of things. 

“Oh,  _ baby _ ,” he mouthed in awe, “C’mon, back up into it.”

Keith complied; he rolled his hips and tilted his head back, baring his neck. Lance kissed and bit all over it. 

“Hey; stop,” Keith told him after a while, “I--  _ stop _ ; I’m ready.”

Lance froze, and reluctantly detached his mouth from Keith’s clavicle.

“Okay,” he croaked, “Okay, yeah; if that’s what you want.”

Keith tossed his head back. As he watched Lance tear open a condom packet and roll it on him-- slick himself with lube, too; just to be sure-- he stroked himself languidly, a lopsided, sharp grin gracing his feature. Lance glanced up. He whined. 

“ _ Keith _ ; baby, you’re so  _ hot _ .”

Keith’s grin merely grew wider as Lance settled between Keith’s parted thighs. 

“How d’you want it?” he asked. 

Keith paused; he considered his options. 

“From the back; hard and fast,” he decided. 

Lance ran a hand through his hair and dug his teeth into his lower lip as Keith turned around, resting on his stomach; thighs parted, ass in the air.  

“You’re going to be the death of me,” Lance hushed against the soft skin of Keith’s shoulder blades; the nape of his neck. He ran his palms up and down Keith’s sides. The sensation made Keith shudder, and he didn’t stop as slowly, and then all at once, Lance slid inside.

They both made sounds like dying men; Keith was so  _ tight  _ and  _ hot  _ and in moments like these, Lance wondered how he ever thought he was straight.   

Keith moaned as Lance began to thrust; a little clumsily, but he must have been doing  _ something  _ right. Keith clawed at the sheets, and bit into the pillow, and ever so often, he’d  _ scream _ .

“Oh my  _ God, _ ” Lance panted against Keith’s vertebrae, fingers dug deep into Keith’s hips and ass; moving him ever so often, and Keith would  _ lose it _ . “You’re so hot; you’re so hot, I don’t think I can last-- you’re  _ perfect _ , oh  _ Jesus _ \-- just like that, baby-- feels so  _ good _ \--”

Keith came then and there; untouched, and far sooner than Lance expected, and  _ fuck _ , what a sight it was. His thighs trembled, and he rasped breathless moans and broken syllables that might have once been Lance’s name. The thought made Lance’s head spin; he came right after that, too, forehead resting against Keith’s curved spine, mouth pressing wet kisses there.  

Lance collapsed over Keith; it was too much. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had sex-- months? last semester; last  _ year _ ?-- or the last time he’d come that hard. He could only hear Keith’s raw breath, and his own thundering heartbeat ring in his ears. 

Keith moved underneath him.

“Shit, sorry,” Lance said. He pulled out-- resulting in a far too attractive hiss from Keith-- and tied the condom and threw it on the floor, and then flopped down on the mattress beside Keith. Keith watched him; he watched his wiry muscles contort with each movement, and how his skin was so much darker than his, and how it was littered with freckles and moles and constellations. He wanted to trace them; softly, with his fingertips. 

“That was a bad idea,” Keith murmured. He seemed to have sobered up; he wasn’t laughing, anymore, which was a shame. 

“What? The fucking?” Lance asked.

Keith turned on his side. He tucked his hands underneath his head, and let his eyelids flutter closed.

“Yeah,” he sighed, “The fucking.”

Lance frowned. He watched Keith; had his eyelashes always been that long, and his lips always this pink?

“We’ll talk about it in the morning,” Lance exhaled, shifting underneath the blankets and throwing an arm over Keith’s waist. He could feel Keith’s muscles contract at the touch; if this was a big taboo for one-night stands, he didn’t care. It was late, and he was a little drunk, and Keith was right  _ here _ ; in the morning, he’d be hungover, and a little less drunk, but Keith would probably be just as beautiful. He’d take every chance he’d get to do this, with Keith; to hold him and kiss him all over. 

Slowly, Lance heard Keith’s breath even out. Lance’s own mirrored that steady inhale-exhale; the push and pull of the tide, at equilibrium. 

Keith had half of his face smashed against the side of Lance’s pillow. His mouth was open slightly as he slept, and his body was curled up against Lance’s at an odd angle. It looked like he’d been drooling. His hair was wild, and even his eyebrows looked in disarray, but  _ God,  _ if Keith wasn’t a pretty sight to wake up to in the morning. It was unfair. 

Lance rolled onto his stomach and watched Keith; Keith exhaled a long breath and inched closer to Lance, craving the warmth of his body, it seemed. A small smile spread on Lance’s lips at the thought, and he ducked his head down to press a small kiss against Keith’s temple; resting his lips on the spot, gently, so as to not wake him. 

“Are you watching me sleep?” 

Lance jumped up and fell out of the bed; Keith’s voice had not been soft or quiet, but ordinarily loud and scratchy. 

“Sorry,” Keith sighed, “I slept seven hours, which is twice as much as I usually sleep, so I’m a little disorientated; and I’m really,  _ really  _ hungover.”

Lance could  _ feel  _ his jaw drop as he scrambled to stand. 

“ _ What _ ?” he asked as he pulled on his boxers and a t-shirt; he wanted at least  _ some  _ modesty, “How-- how are you still functioning?”

“What? With a hangover?”

Lance threw his head back and sighed. 

“Whatever,” he said, “I’m gonna make some breakfast; you good with cereal?”

Keith nodded. 

“Great,” exhaled Lance. Keith watched him disappear, then, and when he was gone; he exhaled a trembling breath. 

_ We’ll talk about it in the morning, my ass. _

Keith threw back the covers and pulled on some boxers and a t-shirt and some socks, and then padded over to the kitchen. The sun shone a little too bright, and as Keith ran a hand through his messy, dry and crisp hair, he could feel a headache begin to pulse, though that was quickly forgotten in favour of the sight of Lance-- in  _ space invaders _ boxers-- humming and letting his fingers curl around the leaves of potted plants; neatly stacked on the windowsill of the kitchen. 

“What are you doing?”

At Keith’s voice, Lance jumped a little.

“Uh,” he stammered, “Water-- watering my  _ houseplants _ ;  _ duh _ ? Did you forget your glasses, old man?”

“I’m not old.”

“Sure,” Lance quipped. He turned his back once more, and poured some water into one of the pots. “How are you doing, sweetheart?”

“Fine,” Keith replied; brow furrowed in confusion. He stepped closer to the kitchen, and grabbed the bowl of cornflakes Lance had poured for him; thankfully, free of expired, sour milk.

“I was talking to the plants.”

“Oh.”

Keith chewed on his cereal, and leaned against the counter.

“You talk to… you talk to your plants,” he said. 

“Yeah,” Lance replied as though it were the most obvious thing in the world, “It gives them extra carbon dioxide; y’know, photosynthesis? Carbon dioxide is converted into oxygen and ATP through photosynthesis which requires sunlight and water and-- ” 

“Yeah,” Keith interrupted, “I know; I remember eighth grade biology. You got any coffee?”

“On the countertop,” Lance said. He turned, and opened a cupboard, reaching up for a mug. A sliver of skin was exposed; tan, and warm. Keith’s fingers itched to touch it. 

Lance poured him a mug.

“Thanks,” Keith said.

“Milks off,” Lance supplied.

“That’s fine, I drink it black.”

“Cool.”

They were silent, then. 

“So… was this… like a-- a one-time thing?” Lance asked. He drew invisible patterns on the countertop he’d been leaning on. Keith took a sip of his coffee, and furrowed his eyebrows together. 

“Do you… do you  _ want  _ it to be a one time thing?” Keith asked. 

Lance licked his lower lip.

“Not… not in particular; I mean, the sex was pretty good, right?” he said. A lopsided grin stretched his lips, and he lowered his head to give Keith that sultry, flirtatious look  _ everyone  _ knew and  _ loved _ . 

Keith merely shrugged, and set his mug down to walk towards the living room.

“It was alright,” he said casually, “You’ll get better with practice, I guess.”

“You-- I--  _ practice _ ? You  _ fucker _ .” 

Lance could have punched Keith, or laughed, or cried, but instead, he vaulted over the low partition wall of his kitchen and ran forward. 

Keith met him in the middle; it was a painful, teeth-clashing meeting of open mouths and tongues that  _ hurt _ . Lance gripped Keith so tightly it stung, and Keith held Lance’s jaw, and something about that fit so well. 

“We should do this more often,” breathed Keith as he kissed the corner of Lance’s mouth, then down to press his mouth against his throat. “But…. secret; clandestine. I don’t want to be a  _ thing _ , y’know?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he agreed, “We should--  _ oh _ , sweet  _ Jesus-- _ ”

“I mean, not because I don’t  _ like  _ you; I’m just-- I’m not good at relationships.”

“Me neither,” panted Lance, “People always say I’m too--”

“-- pushy?”

“Yeah,” Lance agreed. 

“Me too.”

“Great.”

“Fantastic,” Lance reiterated. Games like this were fun.

“Wonderful.”

“ _ Amazing _ .” Lance gripped Keith’s ass, and his other hand tangled in Keith’s hair, pulling it just so; he could do that, now, and so he did.

“I’d like to learn every single inch of you,” Keith told Lance’s collarbone; grin sharp against the sweat-slicked skin, “And I’d like to start  _ right now _ .”

“Oh,  _ shit _ .”

Keith dropped to the floor. He palmed Lance’s embarrassingly erect cock through his boxers, and licked his lips; Lance should have known what was to come, but truly,  _ nothing  _ could have prepared him for this. Skilled fingers pulled him out of his boxers, and then, Keith leaned down and sucked at the head of Lance’s cock.

“ _ Fuck _ ,” groaned Lance, “Oh,  _ baby _ .”

Keith laughed through his nose. 

“You can-- y’know, pull my hair, or something,” he suggested.

Lance bit his lower lip and nodded hectically. 

“Okay,” he said, “Okay; yeah, sure. I’ll do whatever you--”

Keith swallowed him whole, and Lance was cut short; he moaned, and threw his head back, and tugged on Keith’s hair. Keith’s tongue did all sorts of fun tricks; he twisted and moved her head and pushed down further, eyes fluttered closed. His tongue slid along the underside, and he moaned around it; Keith seemed to be having the time of his life, which was quite possibly the single hottest thing Lance had ever seen. Keith tightened his lips around the shaft, and exhaled a muffled groan as he sucked and swallowed. Spit dribbled from his chin. 

“Oh,  _ shit _ ,” Lance told him, “I’m gonna-- gonna come;  _ fuck _ \--”

Keith swallowed every drop of Lance’s load, Lance noticed with a desperate groan; Keith was unfairly hot. With a small pop, he pulled his mouth away, and simply kneeled there; Lance’s fingers in his hair. Lance looked at him, and Keith stared back; with blown eyes. Suddenly, it felt as though Keith were some wild, fascinating, dangerous insect Lance was inspecting under a microscope. 

“Holy shit,” exhaled Lance, cradling Keith’s head, “You’re perfect.”

Keith opened his mouth to say something--  _ anything _ \-- but Lance was quicker; he hauled Keith to his feet and kissed him, hard; palms cupping Keith’s cheeks. He inched closer, and could feel the line of Keith’s own cock dig into his thigh. 

“Shower,” mouthed Keith, “I-- we should-- shower.”

Lance pressed a sloppy kiss to Keith’s mouth. 

“Okay, sure,” he said, and then, they were kissing again;  _ not  _ kissing Keith seemed like a crime. 

Blindly, they stumbled into Lance’s bathroom, and only parted for Lance to turn on the shower, and pull off their clothes. In mere seconds, Keith flung himself all over Lance again; kissing him and throwing his arms around his shoulders.

“Toned,” he murmured against Lance’s mouth, “You’re very… toned.”

It made little sense, but that was fine; the steam of the shower and sheer proximity of Keith made Lance’s head spin and so, he wrapped his fingers around Keith’s skinny, pale wrist and pulled him into the shower. 

The water was warm, and so was Keith; that was fine. Keith backed up against the tiles, and let Lance suck a mark into his neck as he ran his palms along Lance’s shoulders. 

The steam made everything a little hotter; it made Lance a little braver, too. Palm resting on the tiles beside Keith’s head, he spoke against Keith’s parted lips.

“What d’you want me to do, Keith? Finger you open; like last night? You seemed to like that a lot; you kept making these gorgeous noises for me, baby.”

Keith nodded hectically. 

“Yeah,” he slurred, “Please.”

Lance grinned. He slicked his fingers with the silicone based lube he kept beside his shampoo-- he was desperate, and it must have seemed pathetic, but if Keith noticed, he didn’t care-- and then crept closer once more. His breath precipitated, and fanned all over Keith’s face; wet and hot. 

Lance slotted a thigh between Keith’s legs and spread them, and then pressed his fingers against Keith’s entrance. 

“You’re still loose from last night, baby,” Lance murmured, “That’s hot.”

The last time they’d done this, Lance was a little too far gone-- drunk on lust and alcohol-- to truly savour what it was like to finger Keith; but now, bare and naked and dripping wet, there were no boundaries.

Lance rested his forehead against Keith’s and pushed in two fingers, hooking them and beginning to thrust. Keith choked on a moan, and exhaled shakily as he dug his nails into Lance’s shoulders.

“ _ Fu-u-ck _ ,” he hissed. It echoed off of Lance’s bathroom walls. Briefly, he wondered if he could ever look his neighbours in the eye ever again. 

Lance smiled shakily, and thrust against Keith’s smooth thigh as he moved his fingers faster. Keith moaned a little louder, and then, quick fingers slid between their bodies; Keith wrapped his hand around Lance’s own aching cock. It was too much; it was not enough, never enough. Lance faltered, and groaned lowly at the sensation. Keith was unfairly good at this; tight at the head-- teasing ever so often-- and loose at the shaft. Lance rutted against Keith’s hand, and his abdomen ground against Keith’s own arousal, too. 

That seemed to do it for Keith; arching his back, he exhaled a broken moan and came with a shuddering sigh. He was gorgeous; mouth parted, jaw slack, eyebrows furrowed and eyes hooded. The sight was all Lance needed to thrust a little harder and come, too; flecks of white spurting over Keith’s pretty pale fingers. 

“Fuck,” Keith croaked; he sounded absolutely, positively  _ wrecked _ . 

All Lance could do was grin, and cup Keith’s face to kiss him; again, and again, and  _ again  _ until their fingers were pruned and Keith’s hair plastered to his face.

Eventually, Keith had to leave; they had gotten dressed, and sucked face, for a while, and then Keith stood hesitantly in Lance’s door. 

“I guess I’ll… see you around,” he told Lance.

“Yeah,” sighed Lance. His smile was audible. “I’ll… see you around.”

Keith licked his lower lip; it was a little swollen. Slowly, he turned, and walked towards the stairs, before--

“Hey! Do you… do you maybe… should I… I’ll… do you want to go to the movies; with me?”

At Lance’s shouted words, Keith turned. He grinned.

“Sure,” he replied, “Call me.”

And then he was gone; Lance watched him disappear up the stairs, closed the door, and jumped, pumping his fist in the air and exhaling enthusiastic hisses of  _ yes, yes, yes-- I got some; I got with Keith Kogane! _

It echoed in the corridor; up the stairs, and into Keith’s ears. Keith’s laugh travelled down to Lance’s door, too. 

Lance didn’t call him; it was too embarrassing. Instead, he got Hunk to devise a clever and witty and funny text, since it seemed to work the first time.

“Spare me the details,” Hunk told him from his sofa; feet propped on the coffee table, thumbs flying away on Lance’s phone, “How’s this?”

Lance squinted at the screen;  _ hey, you free this friday? they’re playing star trek beyond. That should interest you, mr. space boy _

“ _ Space boy _ ? I never call him that!”

“It’s funny.”

“ _ Whatever _ . Delete that bit and send it; it’s too painful for me.”

“Why is it painful? You’ve already… y’know… done the deed. It’s just a date.”

“Not a date!” Lance protested. 

“It’s a  _ date _ .”

“It’s  _ not a date _ ! We’re not dating! I always fuck up every single date I’ve ever been on; this is not a date!”

“So…,” Hunk drawled, “It’s just… two friends-- who have kissed and stuff-- hanging out?”

“Yes.”

“Like a  _ date _ ?”

“It’s not a date, Hunk! It’s  _ Keith _ ; the guy probably doesn’t even--” 

“Hoe, don’t do it.” 

“-- like me that way.” 

“ _ Oh, my God _ ,” groaned Hunk, “You’re a mess; you’ve done it all backwards. You’re supposed to  _ first  _ go on a date, and  _ then  _ kiss and makeout and stuff.”

“It’s not a date,” insisted Lance, pulling his knees to his chest and picking at a stain on his sofa, “He told me he doesn’t want a relationship.  _ Clandestine _ ; that’s what he said. Who even  _ says  _ that anymore? It’s not like--”

Lance’s phone vibrated on the coffee table. Lightening fast, Lance reached out and read the notification.

“Twitter,” he sighed. He placed it back on the table. 

Then, another vibration; Lance stared at the screen once more.

“Oh, God; it’s him.”

“What’d he say?” Hunk asked. He was positively beaming, and jumping in his seat, bursting at the seams with elated excitement. 

“ _ sure. what time do you want to meet _ ,” Lance said, “Oh-- Hunk! You… you kept the  _ space boy _ ,” whined Lance, “He probably thinks I’m super lame now!”

“You  _ are  _ super lame.”

“Not the point!”

“He said yes, anyway.”

Lance’s eyes widened.

“Holy shit,” hushed Lance, “I’ve got a maybe-date with Keith.”

“You’re  _ welcome _ .”

Friday came far quicker than Lance had wanted it to; he felt so damn  _ nervous _ . It was just like high school all over, he thought as he waited in front of the theatre. In the distance, he could see Keith walking towards him; shoulders hunched, arms crossed. He was wearing the same dirty combat boots again. 

“Hi,” breathed Lance. 

“Hey,” Keith told him, “Are those-- is that  _ hair-gel _ ?” Keith grinned lopsidedly, and reached out to touch the tips of Lance’s hair. 

“What?  _ No _ ,” Lance said, “C’mon, I want to get good seats.”

Then, he did the impossible; he reached out, and grabbed Keith’s wrist to drag him inside. Keith felt a flush spread over his cheeks. Lance’s hand was warm, and his fingers were seering, and a little rough. Maybe he played guitar, Keith thought; the idea made his head spin. 

Lance didn’t let go even after they sat down-- middle column, middle row-- and he seemed to be in pain; he bit his lower lip, and kept his eyes trailed on some point in the top left corner of his vision. Keith pulled his lips to one side; his wrist was feeling a little numb. 

The theatre darkened. Bravely, Keith tugged his wrist away, and Lance closed his eyes briefly as though he had winced at the lost of contact. Keith felt that loss, too, and so, he did what he usually did; act first, think later. He intertwined his fingers with Lance’s. They fit well, together, even though Keith’s hand was cold and Lance’s was sweaty; thermodynamic equilibrium.

Ever so often, Lance would flinch, or throw his hand up against his chest in surprise, and then his hold would tighten on Keith’s; it was adorable, and the way Lance would glance at Keith and smile a wobbling grin was adorable, too. 

“Seventh of all,” Lance told him as they walked out of the theatre; it was dark, now, “Jaylah really deserved more development; I need to know more about how she got that dank-ass sword.”

Keith hummed in agreeance. 

Their joint hands swung between them as they walked. Keith couldn’t stop smiling the entire way back to their apartment complex; it was cheesy, sure, and rather romantic, but it felt  _ nice _ . Keith was sure he would have hated it if it was with anyone else other than Lance. 

Lance was this hybrid of person who could make anyone feel at ease.

“I had fun, tonight,” Keith told him. Lance had walked him to his door; this  _ was  _ very high-school.

“Me too,” Lance replied. He attempted leaning on the doorframe with his elbow, but missed it. Instead, he tripped forward; right into Keith’s arms.

“Sorry,” Lance said quietly, “I-- sorry.”

Keith laughed.

“It’s okay,” he said softly, and  _ God _ , why were they whispering? “At least you didn’t break my nose.”

“It wasn’t broken.”

“Told you so.”

Lance laughed at that, and Keith marvelled at the way his entire body shook when he laughed. 

“Hey,” Keith voiced, “Why don’t you come inside? I’ve got half a bottle of whiskey and some cheap wine.”

“Oh, Keith,” cooed Lance, stepping towards him, “You do know how to make a man swoon.”

Keith snorted, pulled at the collar of Lance’s shirt, and slotting their mouths together; a perfect fit, really. As they fell inside of Keith’s apartment and headed blindly towards Keith’s bed, Lance kissed along Keith’s chin and jaw and neck; skin pale and soft. Keith fell back against the mattress, and wrapped his arms around Lance’s shoulders, hooking his legs around Lance’s hips until they were perfectly aligned; it was so easy. 

Lance pulled back to let his fingers travel underneath the hem of Keith’s shirt; undressing him was an exhilarating experience. He took his time, as though Keith were a terrific present; pulling his shirt off, then his jeans and underwear. As Lance kneeled down, he pressed his lips against every inch of bare skin before wrapping his lips around Keith’s leaking cock; a mere preview. He removed his mouth as Keith hitched his breath and covered his mouth shyly. Lance reached up, and pried his fingers away. 

“Let me hear you, baby,” Lance slurred. He could see the bob of Keith’s throat as he swallowed thickly.

Keith was a gorgeous sight when he was like this; willing and pliant and furiously turned on. His arms were above his head, a divine offering of some kind--  _ take me, I’m yours, if you want me _ . In that moment, Lance couldn’t stop himself from imagining all the dirty things he could do; the sky was the limit. 

Licking his lips, Lance pressed his open mouth against Keith’s jaw, then down the expanse of his body before kissing the back of his knee, along his thigh and then, against Keith’s puckered entrance. Lance lifted his lower body up a little-- fingers digging into Keith’s ass-- as Lance teased and licked the area, then slipped his tongue inside, and Keith went  _ mental _ ; those breathless noises and prolonged sighs and whines were music to Lance’s ears. 

“Lance--” he exhaled, “Lance, please, I--”

“Yeah, baby?” slurred Lance against the juncture of Keith’s hip, “Tell me; tell me what you need.”

Keith inhaled a sharp breath, and tangled a hand in his hair out of sheer frustration. 

“I-- I want your mouth on me, or… something; anything,” he settled on.

Lance grinned. 

“You got it, babe,” he told him, and then, he licked a long stripe up Keith’s cock; slowly, teasingly, as though he were savouring it. 

Keith held Lance’s head still with a hand on his jaw; gentle, as though he thought Lance were asleep, and then, Lance inched forward. Keith could feel the smooth skin of Lance’s lips and mouth slide against his cock, head wet with precome. Lance lapped at it, swallowed around it, and angled his jaw until he’d swallowed all of Keith. Keith swore he saw stars; Lance didn’t gag-- Keith wasn’t sure how-- and simply ran his palms up and down Keith’s thighs, then gripped behind him to push the tip of his thumb inside of Keith. 

Keith threw his head back and moaned at the sensation. Saliva dropped down from Lance’s chin, and his eyes fluttered shut. Keith simply lost what little composure he had left in that moment; the sight of Lance-- utterly wrecked-- kneeling before him like this and swallowing around his cock like he was thirsty for it was too much. Lance pushed his finger further inside.

“Oh,  _ shit-- _ ” rasped Keith, “ _ Fuck _ \--”

Streaks of come dripped down Lance’s lips and tongue and cheeks; he didn’t swallow all of it.

Lance’s lungs felt like they were on fire, and his eyes teared a little, and yet, he couldn’t stop himself from climbing on top of Keith-- feeling the rapid fall and rise of his chest against his own-- and kissing him for all he was worth, and Keith was worth a lot; the sun, the moon, and all the stars in the universe. 

Keith wrapped his fingers around his shaft, and stroked; just the way he knew Lance liked it. Lance exhaled trembling breaths over his face as he rested his forehead against Keith’s.

“Can-- can you open your eyes?” Lance asked him in a quiet voice. 

Keith complied.

“Thanks,” Lance told him, “They’re… they’re really pretty.”

Keith had been told he was a lot of things in his time, but pretty was not one of them.

“ _ Pretty _ ?” he repeated. 

“Yeah,” Lance said, “You’re-- you’re pretty, Keith; really pretty.”

Keith exhaled a breath he didn’t know he was holding. 

“Shit,” Lance rasped, “ _ Shit-- _ fuck, Keith-- baby, I can’t-- oh,  _ God _ \--”

Lance came over Keith’s fingers, throat burning and muscles quivering. Slowly, Keith slowed his hand, and then, Lance fell down beside him. 

“Stay,” Keith found himself saying, “Tonight, I mean.”

Lance gave him a wobbling smile.

“Okay,” he told him, throwing an arm over Keith’s waist, “Okay.”

Keith wished it could stay this way forever; where Lance’s eyes and bright white teeth were all he could see, and his tan, smooth and muscled skin was all he could feel, but that simply wouldn’t  _ work _ . He’d ruin it. He’d ruin it like he ruined everything; he hurt things, broke things in the wake of his recklessness. He was selfish, like that, but Lance’s intimacy had felt too  _ good _ , and he was selfish, too; Keith never wanted him to be anything but. 

Lance shifted a little, and pulled Keith closer to him; chest to chest, fingers tracing invisible words and patterns against Keith’s spine. 

Keith lay awake for hours. The thought of Lance hearing Keith’s heartbeat terrified him. 

After that, Keith felt himself falling; too fast, too hard, and too soon. 

“Did you get question five?”

Keith stopped writing down those nonsense figures to look at Lance.

“No-- uh,  _ no _ ; I didn’t. Sorry,” he said;  _ yeah, that sounds normal, since when did he apologise this much to Lance? _

“Sorry?” scoffed Lance, “Apology accepted,  _ princess _ .”

“Shut the fuck up,” Keith told him. He adjusted his glasses; it was late, and Lance and he were the only ones left in the library, aside from some law students who sat on the other side of the building huddled between manuscripts. 

“Hey,” hushed Lance, “You’re not even working anymore. I can give you a good distraction, if you’d--”

“No.”

Lance raised his palms.

“Whatever you say, babe,” he told him. 

“Stop calling me that.”

“Oh, yeah? You seemed to like it--”

“ _ Lance _ .”

Lance grinned, and leaned closer.

“C’mon, there’s barely anyone--”

“We should take a break,” Keith said.

“Yeah, that’s what I’m--”

“No,” Keith told him, “A.. a break from  _ this _ .”

“What, calculus?”

“Fucking.”

Lance’s eyes widened, and he sank down in his seat a little. 

“Oh,” he said. 

“Yeah. I mean, it’s--- it’s not because I don’t…  _ like  _ this. I do; I do like this, it’s just… a lot, you know?” Keith babbled, “And… I need to focus on… school,” he decided on; a perfect excuse. 

Lance exhaled a shaking breath; it was only a matter of time, he thought, until Keith got bored with him, or until he’d say something dumb, and this whole thing would fall to pieces like it always did with him. 

“Yeah; no, yeah, I know what you mean. That’s… fine. Text me when you need me, okay?” Lance told him, and with that, he backed his things haphazardly, pushed his chair out of the way with a loud  _ scre-e-ech  _ and turned on his heel and left. 

Keith let his elbows slowly slide on the table, and then hit his head against the hardwood. He groaned; he’d just broken something that wasn’t even bent. 

Lance saw him again two weeks later; there was a knock on his front door in the late afternoon, just as Lance was ready to begin lounging around his tiny apartment and marathoning cartoons  _ definitely  _ not meant for college kids. He’d spent the last couple of days moping; watching children’s T.V. and listening to  _ The Potential Break-Up Song  _ on repeat. The last time he’d left the house was to go to lecture; the chance of seeing Keith in the corridors of his apartment were too big. 

_ Keith _ ; stupid, adorable, smart, funny and  _ hot  _ Keith, with his horrible name and haircut, but then again, it wasn’t  _ that  _ horrible. His name gave Lance an excuse to call him all sorts of obscene pet names-- he seemed to like  _ baby  _ the most-- and his hair was soft, and long, and perfect for balling up when he fucked him from behind, hard and fast and--

Lance groaned. 

There was another knock; softer, this time. 

He opened the door; stumbling towards it. 

Keith looked completely ordinary, which was to be expected. He really wasn’t that special, truth be told; he wasn’t an artist, or edgy, or overtly cool in any way, he was simply…  _ Keith _ . That was fine, in Lance’s book. He had no doubt Keith could work magic just by snapping his skinny white fingers. 

“What’s that?” Lance asked him. 

Keith bit at the inside of his mouth. Slowly, he brought his hands out from behind his back. 

“It’s a plant; for you, I mean.” 

Lance blinked down at it. Balanced in Keith’s hands was a tiny, terracotta pot, in which rested a--

“Cactus. You got me a  _ cactus _ .”

“Yeah,” Keith said, “I-- I got you a cactus.”

Lance took it graciously, and cradled it gently. Keith followed him inside his apartment as Lance placed it on his windowsill, carefully tracing the sharp spikes. 

“It’s all prickly, like you,” cooed Lance.

Keith scoffed, closed the front door, and folded his arms; he didn’t really know what else to do with them. 

“Fuck you.”

“Sure,” Lance replied.

A pause; a flicker; a hitched breath, then--

Keith  _ sprinted  _ towards Lance’s open arms, and carded his slim fingers through Lance’s hair as he slotted their mouths together; two pieces of the same puzzle fitting oh-so perfectly against each other.  _ This  _ is what Lance had missed; their dynamic was like no other. If Lance would run too fast, stretch out his arms too far, Keith would match him; at equilibrium. 

“Shit,” panted Lance into the gap between Keith’s lip, “Oh,  _ shit _ ; missed this, missed you,” he mumbled. 

“Me too,” Keith exhaled, and then, softer, “Me too.” The fingers in Lance’s hair didn’t pull incessantly, lustfully; instead, he seemed to simply pet and scratch Lance’s scalp. It was soothing, but only for a couple of seconds-- if Lance hadn’t been paying such adept attention to every miniscule motion of Keith, he would have missed it-- and then, things were back to normal; in this case, Keith licked at the roof of his mouth, and his breath fanned over Lance’s flushed cheeks. 

In a way he hoped was subtle, Lance slotted their hips together. Keith whined through his nose at the sensation, and Lance groaned; it was too much, it was not enough--  _ was it ever? _

Lance thumbed at Keith’s jutted hip bones, then cupped his ass-- for such a skinny guy, he sure had some-- and pulled him closer to him. He was sure Keith could feel the outline of his erection digging into his thigh, but if he noticed, he didn’t care; he simply clawed at his scalp and shoulders and  _ God _ , Lance was sure he’d be bleeding if he hadn’t had the layer of fabric between Keith’s nails and his skin. 

He broke away to tear off his shirt and Keith’s t-shirt regardless, only to kiss him again;  _ not  _ kissing Keith seemed like an abomination. 

“Oh, shit;  _ God _ , I missed you, baby; I need you--” Lance panted.

“Me too,” Keith slurred, “Oh--  _ shit _ \-- haven’t been fucked since the last time; fingers aren’t enough, I need-- I don’t think I can--”  _ do this without you; please stay, don’t ever leave. _

The thought made Lance’s head spin. 

“Yeah, yeah,” he said. 

Keith snaked an arm between them and unbuttoned Lance’s jeans, then his own; pushing the obscuring boxers out of the way with a sense of aggression. Keith shimmied out of his jeans and tore them off completely as Keith palmed and squeezed his ass. He bit at Keith’s lower lip and swallowed every single one of his moans. It drove Keith  _ insane _ ; he pushed towards Lance like never before, and pulled him towards him until, somehow, Keith fell backwards on the couch with Lance in his lap. 

Lance stared at Keith beneath him; they were breathing the same oxygen in ragged, heaving breaths. Lance shifted his hips just a little-- teasingly, slowly; as though he were born to do it-- and Keith exhaled a little noise. Lance let his eyes skim appraisingly over the expanse of the body beneath him; the rise and fall of Keith’s chest, and the lean muscles of his abdomen, and his standing, leaking cock.

“Take a picture; it’ll last longer,” spoke Keith. His voice was rough.

Lance grinned at him impishly. 

“Sure,” he said. He leaned over Keith, and reached for his phone; resting on his coffee. “Smile.”

Lance held the phone in front of his face, and with a tiny  _ snap!  _ noise, he took a picture; the sight of Keith utterly wrecked like this was saved in his gallery. 

“Wait,  _ what _ ? Lance-- Lance, you can’t be--”

“If you don’t want me to do this, I’ll delete it.”

Heat flooded Keith’s cheeks. 

“‘S fine,” he mumbled, “Do-- do whatever.”

Lance grinned brilliantly; he trailed his fingers along Keith’s cheeks, then down his neck-- littered with red and purple love-bites-- and down to his collarbone. 

“You look good,” he told him as he took another photograph, “Sexy; very erotic.”

His fingers trail down lower, and Keith whined and arched his back as Lance’s fingers wrapped around Keith’s cock; rubbing the head with his finger. Lance marvelled at the contrast of their skin tones.

“Lance,” Keith groaned, “Lance-- c’mon--”

With one more candid shot of Keith’s flushed face, Lance thrust against Keith’s bare thigh and began to move his hand; gentle at the head, tight at the base, just how he knew Keith liked it.

“Shit, you look so good like this,” groaned Lance. Keith threw his head back and clawed at Lance’s shoulders; mouth parted in a moan of Lance’s name and a slew of other obscenities. Lance captured everything on his phone; the arch of Keith’s back, his swollen lips. At one point, Keith ground his thigh up against Lance’s arousal and looked directly at the camera with the lewdest expression Lance had ever seen; his tongue tracing his bottom lip, eyes hooded, and  _ fuck--  _ Lance has fallen far too deep for him. Head over heels, really. 

Keith had grown to appreciate the camera, it seemed; he moaned a little louder, and kept looking at it with a smolder, smothering gaze as he ran his hands down Lance’s chest and wrapped his fingers around Lance’s cock before urging him closer to him. They were aligned, then, and  _ God--  _ it was  _ seering.  _ Keith kept making those delicious noises; loud and raw.

“Oh,  _ fuck-- _ ” Lance hissed as Keith knocked his head back and moaned. Precome dribbled from his aching cock; it made their movements more fluid. They were close.

“Shit, Lance,” Keith groaned, “ _ Lance _ \-- don’t stop;  _ don’t stop _ \--”

Lance felt his breath leave him; all he could hear was Keith’s voice, his thundering heartbeat ringing in his ears, and the obscene, wet sounds of their fingers and hands pumping their cocks below them. 

“Keith,” breathed Lance. Keith opened his eyes-- just a little--and seemed to understand  _ perfectly _ ; they moved faster, and Keith pulled Lance down to bring their lips together, sharing a hot and wet kiss as they fell apart. Keith whined through his nose and gasped brokenly; his hips stuttered and streams of white coated their fingers. Lance came right there and then; the sight of Keith looking so utterly  _ wrecked  _ was too much to handle. He groaned into Keith’s open mouth, and thrust towards him before releasing over their hands and chests. 

As he attempted to regain his breath, he slumped on Keith’s body. Keith exhaled an exhausted sigh; it trembled, a little. They ignored the disgusting, sticky feeling of slowly drying come between them, and simply stayed quiet; listening to ragged breaths and rapid heartbeats. 

“You’re so embarrassing,” muttered Keith.  

“Wh-- I am  _ not _ ,” protested Lance. 

Keith hummed. His fingers stroked up and down the vertebrae of Lance’s spine; lazily drawing nonsense patterns with gentle touches. 

“Are too,” he mumbled. Lance pressed his lips against every expanse of soft skin he could reach; Keith’s throat, his collarbones, his shoulder. 

“You should be a porn star,” Lance told him. He’d expected a shout of protest, or an incredulous glare, but instead-- instead he got--

Keith threw his head back and laughed. His chest vibrated; Lance could feel it against his cheek. 

“I’m serious!” Lance insisted, “It was really hot!”

Keith laughed harder, at that; he  _ snorted _ .

If this was embarrassing, Lance thought, he’d just have to live with it.

He’d do it; he’d do it for this.

There were lines Lance had never noticed on people before he’d started  _ hanging out _ with Keith again, or whatever it was they were doing. The topography between Keith and him; how their bodies bent together, lying beside another. Like right now, Lance realised; watching the stars. 

It was Lance’s idea, to go stargazing together; he’d thought it’d be fun. Keith’d probably know a lot about the stars, as a soon-to-be aerospace engineer, and he could show Lance some constellations. Keith had agreed, and he  _ was  _ showing Lance constellations, but Lance found his attention drawn more to Keith than the brilliant night sky. Keith looked so damn  _ happy _ ; lying on his back, hands on his chest. Lance watched him, lying back with his arms folded behind his head. 

Then, Keith looked over to him; he must have realised he was being studied. 

“What’s--”

“Nothing’s wrong!” Lance interrupted, “Nothing… nothing’s wrong.”

Keith frowned a little. 

“Okay,” he replied. 

Lance coughed into his fist. 

“Thanks for… thanks for coming with me,” he spoke, “I mean, I know it’s kind of…  _ romantic  _ to do this… so…”

“It’s fine,” Keith replied softly, “I just… I like space;  _ a lot _ .”

Lance smiled; Keith was so devastatingly in love with the entire universe. The sight of Keith looking at the sky with so much sheer adoration made Lance want to sink into the ground. His heart hammered relentlessly. He wondered whether Keith would ever look at him, that way. 

It was perfect. Lance was so damn  _ nervous _ , yet he couldn’t remember a time he had felt so at ease. 

Then, the lines of Keith’s body shifted. He rolled onto his side, and looked down at Lance. 

“Do you know any constellations?” Keith asked. He looked genuinely curious.

Lance snorted.

“Uh,  _ yeah _ ; ‘course I do,” he stated. Keith offered him a lighthearted, teasing smile that made Lance’s head spin. 

“Oh, yeah? Which ones?”

Lance raised an eyebrow. 

“Well,” he said pointing idly at the sky, “That’s… that’s a…. that’s the big dipper.”

“ _ What _ ?” Keith asked immediately, “Where?”

Lance scoffed once more, and huffed in mock exasperation. 

“C’mere, I’ll show it to you.”

Keith moved a little closer. Warmth radiated off him as his head rested in the crook of his shoulder. 

“There,” Lance spoke. He pointed his finger in the sky. “See?”

Keith’s hair tickled his chin. Lance’s breath caught at the sensation. He felt warm all over. 

“Where?” repeated Keith. He moved a little closer.

“There,” Lance said. His voice wavered, just a little, as he inched closer and wrapped his arm around Keith, pulling him towards him until their chests and hips and legs touched; perfect mirror images of one another. 

“Oh, yeah;  _ totally _ ,” teased Keith. He had that brilliant grin, again; bursting at the seams of sheer happiness. It was beautiful. 

“Hey,” Lance asked quietly, after a pause, “Why… why do you like space so much?”

Keith raised his head, a little; he watched Lance, curiously. 

“I… I guess I just… I don’t really know,” he confessed, “I think I just… you know, Sergei Korolev and the team that launched Sputnik; they weren’t tasked by their government to be the first to launch an artificial satellite. They just  _ did it _ ; they fought for the honour and resources to do it. I like that. I like that ambition.”

A shy smile spread over Keith’s lips as he spoke; it was gorgeous.

“Makes sense,” Lance said. He felt breathless at the sight. “Hey, d’you want to show me the constellations?”

Keith’s eyes lit up at that. 

“Sure,” he said. A wind passed through the trees; the leaves whispered around them. “So…,” Keith began, nestling closer to Lance and wrapping his fingers around his palm to point at the sky, “That’s canis minor…”

The stars didn’t leave Keith’s mind later, either, it seemed; when Lance had asked him if he wanted to come over, for a drink, or something. A lukewarm beer later, Keith’s lips and fingers traced invisible constellations across the expanse of Lance’s naked back, right between his shoulder blades.

“This one sort of looks like cancer,” Keith whispered over the warm, sweat-slicked skin.

“Wh- _ what _ ?”

“The  _ constellation _ , silly,” Keith laughed softly. The sound made Lance’s heart ache. 

“It does not--”

“It  _ does. _ It’s my zodiac; I know this.”

“Whatever,” Lance mumbled. 

Keith pressed his palm against his lower abdomen, and Lance let a small breath of laughter escape his lips. Keith peaked at Lance’s face over Lance’s shoulder, watching his grin; as much as he wanted to ravish every inch of Lance’s tan skin, he didn’t want to miss the sight. He’d known he was in too deep-- he’d known for a while-- and the painful stab in his chest at the sound of Lance’s laugh made it all too evident.

“Kiss me,” tumbled out of Keith’s mouth. Lance turned in Keith’s arms, facing him; his lips were parted, and he had a wondrous look in his eyes, as though Keith were the most wonderful thing he’d ever seen. 

“Anywhere?” Lance asked the gap between Keith’s lips. 

“Everywhere.” Keith moved his hands to cup Lance’s jaw. 

“ _ Everywhere?  _ Even  _ Florida _ ?” Lance asked; his smile was audible, tangible, “Gee, Keith; you’re not making this easy, are you? Guess I’ll have to get started right away.”

Keith giggled. The sound made it hard to Lance to remember to breathe, and so he simply pressed kisses to Keith’s temple, his cheeks, his jaw; everywhere, really. 

There was a moment of Keith’s hair ruffling as Lance pulled his shirt over his head, kissing every inch of skin exposed; up and down Keith’s neck. Keith’s breath fanned hotly over Lance’s cheeks and temple, and the fingers against his jaw twitched as he knocked his head back to bare more of his skin. He leaned backward to press his spine against the soft mattress of Lance’s bed; the one he’d gotten so used to in the last couple of months. 

Lance’s lips travelled downwards, biting and nipping and licking all over, before groaning against the skin of Keith’s sharp and jutted hipbones. It was agonising, taking his time like this but  _ God _ , it was worth it. With one final kiss, Lance leaned back and pulled off Keith’s jeans and underwear, and then his own shirt, too, tossing it into some obscure corner of the room. Keith laughed at that, too, and wrapped his arms around Lance’s shoulders as he leaned down to kiss him again; on his open mouth, wanton and needy. 

Lance’s palm pressed down the expanse of Keith’s body; down his chest and abdomen, then across his hips to reach behind him and in between those soft thighs he’d come to love so much. 

“Can I?” Lance whispered. He wasn’t sure why he was this quiet; it simply felt right. 

“Yes,  _ yes _ ,” hushed Keith. His spine arched, and he spread his legs a little more. 

Blindly, Lance reached for the bottle of lube on his nightstand; the bottle had come to be half-empty, he noticed with a shy smile. Lance coated his fingers, and lifted Keith’s thighs a little, settling between them and kissing along the smooth skin; over faded marks he’d left weeks ago. The sight made him feel a little nostalgic, yet privileged, too; he thanked his past self for taking that physics class and failing it, and taking up that part-time job with Hunk, because it all led him to this. 

As he pushed his index finger inside of Keith, and then two-- Keith was good, like that-- Lance understood the importance of this; Keith wasn’t just a pretty face with nice legs and a decent ass. He was far more than that. He was infinitely beautiful; from his ski-slope nose to his smooth neck, down to his bony shoulders and elbows, to his long legs and the mole he had on his ribcage, the other one on the inside of his thigh. Lance noticed these things. He simply  _ loved them _ ; ingrained them into the back of his mind so that when he’d be old and grey, he could remember that he once held something truly beautiful. 

He wanted to tell Keith that, but at time like these, talking didn’t feel right. 

Instead, he thrust and hooked his fingers, and drank up every single one of Keith’s broken moans. 

“You don’t need one,” Keith told him when he’d removed his digits and scrambled to find a condom, “Not-- not tonight. You-- you’re clean, right?”

“Yeah-- yeah, I am,” Lance croaked, “But-- I-- it’s fine, you don’t have to--”

“I trust you,” Keith told him, fingers mapping out Lance’s face, “I... trust you, Lance.”

Lance simply swallowed thickly and nodded.

“Okay,” he said, slicking himself up with lube, “Okay.”

Once Lance was inside him, all Keith could was tremble underneath his touch; breath rasping into the gap between Lance’s lips. Sweat dripped down Lance’s neck, and he gritted his teeth as he began to move; rolling his hips slowly and deeply, just how he knew Keith liked it. 

There was this intimacy between them that hadn’t been there before; something Lance had never felt with anyone else, really. The way Keith whined and moaned beneath him, how they grabbed at every inch of skin and hair, and how  _ hot  _ the room had become. They were closer than ever before, and  _ God _ , Keith was  _ gorgeous _ . The sight of Keith like this-- wrecked and heaving-- made Lance’s breath grow laboured. 

They didn’t speak; there were no sweet nothings, or sinful whispers, not even whines of the other’s name. Instead, only panted breaths and strained moans, and then--

Lance reached out and laced their fingers together. 

He didn’t know  _ why  _ he’d done it, or whether Keith had been repulsed by it, but it simply had felt  _ right _ . Keith had etched himself into every crevice of Lance’s life; his entire being, really. 

Lance was the first to cry; his eyes burnt, and he choked up on some welling emotion before a tear fell from his eye down to Keith’s cheek. Keith tightened his hold on Lance’s jaw, and kissed him-- hard-- before rolling his hips and meeting his stuttering thrusts. It struck a chord in both of them, it seemed; Keith’s lungs burnt at the sheer passion of the kiss-- as though they’d been lovers for years; as though they’d been born to do this-- but he didn’t stop, and neither did Lance, even when he felt the wetness of Keith’s cheeks, too. 

Keith curled inwards, and with a choked sob, the pressure he’d felt in his lower abdomen burst; he tremored from head to toe, and Lance followed him thereafter, chasing that electric heat. He bowed forward, and gasped into Keith’s mouth.

He tried not to collapse over Keith, but his arms gave out; he was hypersensitive, and too blissed out to even  _ think _ . Keith didn’t say anything either, he simply held onto Lance’s hand and let Lance kiss the juncture of his shoulder as he drew lazy patterns on Lance’s shoulders, breath evening out and, eventually, falling to a gentle inhale-exhale. Lance mirrored the rhythm; they were mirror-images of each other, and fell asleep in each other’s arms.

They didn’t talk about it; not that night, not the morning after, and not even days later. 

The next Lance saw Keith was when he showed up at Keith’s door, holding a basket of laundry.

“Hey,” he said, “I-- I need to go to the laundromat, and I-- do you… maybe want to come with me?”

Keith pulled his lips to one side, and furrowed his brow a little. 

“Why? Do you not think I know how to do my laundry?”

“What? No--  _ no _ , I just--”

“I’m kidding, Lance.”

Lance exhaled a trembling breath;  _ right _ , this is what they did. The teasing, the banter; it was normal, yet something about the way Keith said his name and grinned made his skin crawl. 

As it turned out, Keith didn’t know how to do laundry; he could operate the machine, and everything, he just couldn’t--

“I can’t believe you don’t know how to fold,” Lance said, later, in his bedroom, standing before his bed and holding up Keith’s t-shirt. His cheeks hurt from smiling this much. 

“It’s not funny!” fumed Keith. He seemed ready to bolt. “If you’re going to laugh, I’ll just--”

Lance reached out, and pulled Keith back by his wrist.

“Don’t go,” he said, “I promise I won’t laugh; here, I’ll teach you.”

Keith frowned, and bit at the inside of his mouth. 

“ _ Fine _ ,” he growled.

Lance pulled out one of Keith’s shirts.

“Okay,” he said, “So, you just lay it out like this, and then duck the sleeves in, and the fold it in half. Ta-dah! You can tell I had a part-time job at Hollister in high school.”

Keith snorted.

“ _ Hollister _ ? Really?”

“Yeah,” Lance boasted, “It was the coolest job on the market! I even had a dope line;  _ hey, what’s up, welcome to the pier _ .”

Keith threw his head back and  _ cackled _ . Lance watched him out of the corner of his eye. Keith was beautiful when he was happy, he thought. He looked a lot younger. He looked like an ordinary boy; the kid he really was, some twenty-something year old misfit, and not a hyper-cool, stoic genius. 

“Whatever,” Lance told him, “At least  _ I  _ can fold shirts.”

“Shut up! It’s not funny!”

“Aw, c’mon, babe; you have to admit, it’s sorta funny,” Lance told him as he folded the last of Keith’s t-shirts. 

Keith pulled his lips to one side; it was infinitely adorable.

“Just a little,” he mumbled. 

“God,  _ what  _ would you do without me?” Lance laughed. 

It was a good question, Keith thought; he really had no idea. Lance had seeped into every single crevice and corner of his life; he knew more about him that Shiro, at this point. He’d fallen too deep, and too hard, and suddenly, Keith felt like he was overflowing with affection for Lance. He’d stepped inside a swimming pool, and accidentally slipped and found himself at the deep end, and now, he was gasping for air and drowning and being pulled under; pulled down into the sheer idea that was being with Lance, for real. 

“Hey; Lance,” Keith told him. 

“Huh?”

“ _ Lance _ .”

“What-- yeah?”

Keith inhaled a shuddering breath. 

“I think I’m in love with you.”

Lance stared him; his ears were ringing, and he felt nauseous, but Lance was just  _ standing  _ there. Keith wanted the ground to open up and swallow him whole. 

“I-- I just wanted you to know; we should stop this,” Keith told him, “I need-- I gotta go--”

Lance reached out, and stopped any chance of Keith escaping; tripping over his own feet, he pulled at Keith’s shirt and tugged him down to the floor with him. Keith’s spine ached from the fall, and Lance collapsed on top of him. Around them, socks and underwear and t-shirts fell. 

“Jesus fucking Christ, what the fuck is--”

“Say-- say that again,” exhaled Lance.

“What?” asked Keith. 

“Do you… you love me?” Lance questioned; he sounded hopeful. 

“I… I think I do; which is… which is why we should stop this, for real, since… it’s all fucked up. I’m not good at relationships, and you’re not either, and sooner or later this’ll all--”

“I’m willing to try if you are.”

Keith blinked at him. 

“What?”

“I’m willing to try if you are,” Lance repeated, slower, this time, “I-- I want to date you, Keith. I want to hold your hand and teach you how to cook and… I just… I want to date you, ‘cause I think I love you. I’m in love with you.”

“You’re--  _ what _ ?”

“Yeah,” laughed Lance, “I’m as surprised as you are.”

Keith felt a smile spread over his lips.

“God, this is all backwards,” Lance sighed, “I mean, what kind of a relationship starts with sex and then--”

Keith cupped Lance’s face, and brought him down to him, kissing him soundly; lips pressing softly against his.

“Oh, my  _ God _ ,” Lance breathed, “You’re-- I-- we’re  _ dating _ . You’re my boyfriend.”

“Yeah.”

“Oh, my  _ God _ ; wow, okay,” Lance laughed, “I--  _ wow _ , I really,  _ really  _ hope I don’t start crying but if I do, you should know that I don’t cry often, okay?”

“Okay,” giggled Keith, “Sure.”

Lance sighed, and then kissed him again. Keith tasted like sunshine, in his opinion. 

“Hey, Keith,” he whispered, “I love you.”

Keith laughed again. 

“I love you, too,” he hushed, tracing an invisible line from Lance’s temple down to his chin. He was beautiful when he was happy like this, Keith thought. Lance’s grin wobbled a little, and a stray tear dripped down to Keith’s cheek. 

“It’s fine,” Keith told him, wiping it away with the pad of his thumb, “It’s fine; we’re going to be okay.”

Lance felt a little delirious. 

“Yeah,” he replied, “We’re going to be okay.”

There was no doubt about it. 

**Author's Note:**

> haha oh man
> 
> follow me on tumblr @ reminscees


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